


little boys have action toys for brains

by lanyon



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FitzSimmons construct an Advent calendar. It’s rigged with tiny, timed explosions, to emit streamers and glitter every day. </p><p>Skye thinks about scratching off the days, prison-style, four vertical lines and a diagonal one. On Lola’s paintwork. </p><p>(Or: The One Where the Team Are Trapped on the Bus for Christmas)</p>
            </blockquote>





	little boys have action toys for brains

**Author's Note:**

> +Title from _Great Big Sled_ by the Killers.

“He’s not the Grinch.”

“Then he’s the Sheriff of Nottingham in _Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves_.” Skye’s never even met Nick Fury but he called off Christmas and, okay, aside from FitzSimmons, they’re a merry bunch of orphans or whatever, but still. Christmas is trees and presents and tinsel and eggnog. It is not the inside of the Bus where the most festive thing is Lola (and AC won’t even let her put tinsel on the rearview mirrors).

.

The Bus is quarantined somewhere. May won’t tell them where and there’s something scrambling all incoming and outgoing signals and Skye probably _could_ hack it and it would be worth it to turn FitzSimmons’ frown upside down.

.

“I know.” 

“Yes. I _know_.”

“I miss you too. Of course I-”

.

“AC has a cellphone.”

“What?” Ward doesn’t even look up from the chessboard.

“Coulson. Has a cellphone.”

“Uh, we all have cellphones? You’ve been known to take down minor corporations with a prehistoric Nokia.”

“Yes,” hisses Skye. “But his works. Right here, right now. It works.” She blinks. “And they were pretty freaking major corporations.”

“Wait, Coulson’s cellphone works?”

May arches an eyebrow. It’s pretty ninja. She arches an eyebrow and everyone pipes down. “I’m sure you were just imagining things, Skye.”

.

No, but the thing is, Coulson has an operational cellphone and even if he’s blanding his way through these days of quarantine, Skye knows. Skye _knows_. She overhears a hissed conversation and she’s seen Coulson lose his cool before but she’s never seen him all pissy. It’d be entertaining if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s hoarding a communications device and denying it all the while. 

.

“So,” says Ward. “Skye says you’ve got a working cellphone.”

“All incoming and outgoing communications are blocked,” says Coulson. 

He’s good. He’s so so good. 

.

FitzSimmons construct an Advent calendar. It’s rigged with tiny, timed explosions, to emit streamers and glitter every day. 

Skye thinks about scratching off the days, prison-style, four vertical lines and a diagonal one. On Lola’s paintwork. 

.

“You _can’t_ ,” says Coulson, into his allegedly non-functional cellphone. Maybe it’s a Level 8 thing. 

“I forbid you,” he says and Skye doesn’t know him _that_ well, other than the fact that he’s totally the team dad or whatever (which makes May the team mom and Ward the uptight uncle and maybe Skye has thought about this a bit) but she can tell saying those words is taking a strain. 

“Of course I do. Of _course_.” Coulson sighs. “Barton-” 

.

Barton. It’s a name Skye hasn’t heard before. Normally, she’d hack into SHIELD’s servers and figure it out for herself but she’s willing to go old school. 

“Who’s Barton?” she asks May. It’s a bad start. May looks at her for a long moment and Skye takes in the visuals; May is sweating and dressed in work-out gear 

“Nevermind,” she says. “Forget I said anything. So, how about them Hawks?”

May flinches which is just weird.

.

“Who’s Barton?” Skye asks Ward and he foreheads at her like she’s speaking a different language.

“Who’s Barton?” she asks FitzSimmons and Simmons lets out this little giggle. “Oh, he has lovely arms.”

She could ask Coulson.

She _should_ ask Coulson. 

She bums around the lab where FitzSimmons are coping admirably with their cabin fever by giving each other these challenges. She’s not sure where Fitz got the santa hat from but he’s wearing it with aplomb. She wonders if she could get Ward to wear it. 

The science advent calendar explodes and catches fire, just a little, and Simmons claps her hands. “It’s Christmas Eve!”

Awesome. It’s Christmas Eve and they’re on the Bus in a Hangar in the middle of nowhere. It’s Schrodinger’s Bus. They’re alive and dead and no one’s opening the fucking box. 

.

It’s Christmas Eve and they’re all sitting around the coffee table and there’s a half-empty bottle of bourbon dangling from Ward’s hand that he’s refusing to share until someone puts in a decent DVD which, whatever, _The Santa Clause_ is the goddamned meaning of Christmas. 

It’s Christmas Eve and spirits are running high (ha!) when there’s a knock on, well, the side of the Bus.

“What the-?”

May’s on her feet and Coulson’s sitting in his armchair, fingers steepled, looking completely unphased (and he was totally into _The Santa Clause_ , Skye could tell).

The lights flicker and then the intercom whines. 

“C’mon, Phil. Open up. We know you’re in there.”

The voice is familiar. The dad rock that plays after is even more familiar. May groans and Ward looks wide-eyed. Coulson? Well, Coulson looks resigned. He gets to his feet and he must know that the team are trailing after him when he goes down to the vehicle deck to open up the ramp. 

. 

Honestly, it’s pretty festive. The Avengers are like a fully collectible set and they’re all kitted out in their uniforms. Iron Man hugs Coulson which is pretty much the weirdest sight ever and Captain America, like, salutes him. Black Widow, who’s pretty damned mysterious, grips his shoulder and looks at him intensely before saying something, presumably in Russian. Dr Banner looks a little dishevelled and, oh wow, fuck, that’s Thor and with him is -

“As I live and breathe, it’s Doctor Jane Foster,” says Fitz and Skye’s worried that he’ll expire on the spot. 

“She’s such - you’re such a hero of mine!” says Simmons and Dr Foster looks a little surprised but Skye’s pretty sure that Thor’s rippling muscles and all-round shininess will soothe her back to equanimity. 

“Agent Coulson,” says Captain America, pushing back his cowl to reveal an unfairly handsome face. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

The someone’s this pretty startlingly good-looking guy and Skye’s beginning to wonder if there’s some kind of minimal aesthetic qualification required to be an Avenger. He’s slightly scowly and crazy intense, kind of like the Widow, and Agent May, and he’s got a metal arm.

“I want to touch it,” says Fitz, in a rapt exhalation. 

“Need I remind you,” says Coulson, raising his voice. “That we’re in quarantine? Coming here is very kind but-”

“Can it, Coulson. You’re not the boss of us,” says Iron Man. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “And we couldn’t deal with this guy’s moping. Anyway, Dr Banner made sure we all had our shots before coming down here.”

Skye’s craning her neck now because she knows that Hawkeye’s the last one and she’s never seen a decent photograph of the guy. He has really great arms and kind of sandy blonde hair and he’s staring at Coulson like he’s never seen him before. 

“Quarantine, sir?”

“Maybe I fancied a quiet Christmas, Barton.”

For a moment, Skye’s brain is replaced by white noise.

“You’ll never get that in this line of work.”

Barton walks towards Coulson and this is where Coulson breaks ranks. Instead of receiving his guests on board, like some stiff old monarch or admiral of the fleet, he walks down the ramp towards Barton.

“We brought food,” Captain America says. 

“Uh-huh,” says Skye, unable to look away from Coulson and Barton. She can’t hear what they’re saying but Barton’s face looks kind of squashed and emotional and he’s definitely wrinkling up Coulson’s jacket with the force of that hug. What’s really blowing Skye’s mind, though, is the way that Coulson’s hugging back. 

.

“So,” she says, helping May and Ward find space for the glut of food and drink that the Avengers (!!) brought for Christmas. “That’s Barton.”

Iron Man wanders through and prods Ward’s cheeks. “Amazing. They managed to clone Agent.”

“Yes,” says Ward, massaging his face. “That’s Barton.”

“So. He’s Coulson’s … _special friend_?”

May snorts. “More like husband.”

Skye drops a jar of cranberry sauce.

“Aw, no. You’re gonna make Cap cry if you waste food,” says the dude with the metal arm. “Is there any beer in here?”

Ward hands over a six-pack and frowns. Skye turns to May. “What’s his deal?”

“Oh, he’s sulking now that he’s only the third best sniper on the Bus.”

Skye grins cheerfully and sings, “On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me, two decent snipers-”

“-hey-”

“And a repurposed-Iron-Man-suit-Christmas tree.”

“That doesn’t even scan properly,” says Ward, a little sourly. 

“C’mon, big guy,” says Skye. “Let’s go join the party.”

.

Ooh, maybe someone brought mistletoe and she can manoeuvre AC and Barton under it. In the interests of fact-finding and openness and, whatever, having a festive festive season.

.

It turns out that mistletoe is totally unnecessary.


End file.
